Old market escape

My darlings, do you know why I love Rouen and feel so wonderfully at home here? Rouen is the former city of the Dukes of Normandy. It is a ducal city—rather like me, in a way, since I am an archduchess. Here, at every street corner, I breathe in the noble fragrance of ancient stone. And let me tell you, it makes me swoon with delight just as much as dipping my aristocratic nose into a bottle of Dior or Chanel.

As someone who loves to hold court, I adore strolling along Rouen’s cobblestones, casually, incognito among the good people. I simply LOVE slumming it a bit—don’t you? Of course, mingling among strangers, far from the beaten path, is no easy business. Far from it, my friends, far from it! Speaking of which, I must tell you what happened one day as I set off for a little walk to the Vieux Marché. The locals call it the “Vieux” square… Personally, I find that a touch vulgar. I was always taught to pronounce words in full, without apocope. Anyway, I wander around, thinking of my distant ancestor Hubert, Jeanne d’Arc’s comrade-in-arms and a knight of the king. According to family records, he acquired in the 15th century a lovely half-timbered house near those already famous market halls. Family legend says a charming market girl used to sell him her fruits. The hidden side of history…

Perched on my Louboutins, I ventured between the stalls, giggling secretly at cousin Hub’s likely bawdy jokes. I should have watched where I was going… Some sort of commoner on a skateboard bumped into me. Heavens! I almost ended up sprawled on the pavement, legs in the air. Fortunately, a gentleman caught me just in time. “O Rage, O Despair,” he said as he kissed my hand. He looked amusing with his little goatee and long hair that could’ve used a good treatment from Dessange. Perhaps he was some kind of grungy hippie? In any case, extremely well-mannered, with perfect etiquette. I barely had time to thank him and introduce myself before my gallant rescuer had already melted back into the crowd, whispering: “With the compliments of Pierre Corneille.” Goodness—was I saved by the Corneille of *Le Cid*? I was utterly thrilled. To calm my nerves, I sat down on the terrace of La Couronne to enjoy a small glass of vintage Calvados. One must do what one must to recover from such emotions, even when one is an archduchess and has been saved from ridicule by the illustrious Pierre Corneille.

Fabien’s recommendations:

Go to 4 rue de la Pie to see the birthplace of the famous Pierre Corneille.
Admire the restaurant "La Couronne", the oldest inn in France (1345), a gastronomic restaurant since 1935 serving the famous Rouen-style duck. 31 Place du Vieux Marché in Rouen.